


The Woman in the Woods

by Corpse_Grl



Category: Corpse Bride (2005), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 09:57:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2384081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corpse_Grl/pseuds/Corpse_Grl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is 1892 and Sherlock Holmes is forced into an arranged marriage in order to finance his attendance at medical college. On the night before his wedding, he encounters the most bizarre case he has come across yet and learns a great deal about his bride to be. - Inspired by Tim Burton's Corpse Bride and presented in honor of Halloween 2013</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at the end of October 2013 on fanfiction.net - Now available here as well in honor of the upcoming 2014 Halloween Season

Sherlock Holmes sat uncomfortably in the foyer of the mansion that played home to his benefactors. It was less dusty than his own, probably because his family had been forced to dismiss their servants a year ago. Although he had the prestige of being from an aristocratic family, the nouveau riche family whose entry way he now waited in, had all the money in this small English town. In order to further his scientific studies, they had agreed to sponsor his trip to London and fund his tuition at medical school. A placement in a well respected school of anatomy was rare and his depended on their generosity. Unfortunately, their generosity had strings attached and he was here today to learn what those strings were. He was not pleased with the situation at all.

“Mr. Holmes, a pleasure to have you,” Mrs. Hooper called to him as she descended the stairwell.

He politely took her hand and bowed. Sherlock knew that the situation called for his best manners, however much it displeased him.

“The pleasure is mine. I understand you wish to speak with me concerning my trip to London.”

“Yes. Come with me to the library won’t you. We can discuss it further there.”

Upon entering the library Sherlock realized this was not to be a private discussion. Mr. Hooper and their daughter, Margaret, were already situated in the room having tea. When the four were all comfortably arranged, or as comfortable as Sherlock could be, Mrs. Hooper began.

“We have discussed your upcoming trip to London to pursue an education in medicine and feel that a financial investment such as this requires an equal investment on your part in our family and its future. To that end, we propose a permanent merger between our families. Before you leave for London, you will be wed to our daughter. Those are our terms.”

For several moments, Sherlock sat in silence. He knew they would request him to return their generosity in some way. Of course he had. But to saddle him with a wife! And one as timid and unremarkable as Margaret Hooper. This was more than he had anticipated. There were obligations a man of his station would be required to meet especially living in London with all its tedious social events. He saw what had happened to Mycroft when he had left for the city and taken a wife. Sherlock hardly spoke with his brother any longer because ‘family’ had dulled his brother’s sharp senses. 

“My apologies, Mr. and Mrs. Hooper. But at this time, I find I cannot agree to such an arrangement. Good day.”

With that, Sherlock strode from the room and from the house. He needed to think. There must be another way without having to marry Miss Hooper.

Hours of violin playing later, Sherlock still had no better idea how he could gain tuition to medical college without the support of the Hoopers. It was infuriating. For a moment he tried to envision what life would be like married to Margaret. She seemed a quiet sort. Clearly well bred, even if she was not aristocratic born. And while his mind thought of Miss Hooper and their potential life together in London, the violin sounded less tortured, less painful. It might be possible that he could manipulate such as mild mannered girl into allowing him his whims and indulging his rather macabre studies. True he was going to medical college, but his interests lay not in curing disease, but in better understanding the human body and documenting it in death. A quiet girl with no real ambitions would perhaps be the best solution, and would prevent his own family from hounding him to find a respectable match in the future. So Sherlock decided, he would reluctantly wed Margaret Hooper.

-x-x-x-

The day of the rehearsal found the Hoopers in the dark and somewhat dreary Holmes manor. It was a much older building than Margaret’s home, and the fact that it had not been well maintained in the past few years was beginning to show. She wasn’t sure if that was an indication of their lack of funds or Mr. Holmes’ lack of interest in the matter. He was certainly an odd character and she had great reservations about being his wife. But her parents had arranged the marriage in order to elevate their own social status in the community. She knew it was a good match. She would become the next mistress of the Holmes manor and he would go off to London to study medicine. Secretly she was looking forward to the possibility of expanding her own knowledge. Margaret was just as curious about the world of science as her soon-to-be husband. It was improper for a lady to study anatomy, but it would be impossible for anyone to prevent her access to his library while he was away. 

While her parents discussed matters with the pastor and arranged for the wedding tomorrow, Margaret followed the sounds of violin music to a study down the hall. Pushing open the door she saw a disheveled assortment of chemistry equipment and scientific papers. Standing near the window, gracefully drawing bow across strings, stood Sherlock Holmes clearly lost in the music. For several minutes she watched silently. He was more attractive now, in his unguarded playing. Margaret thought it was lucky that her parents had matched her with someone so intriguing. She would not ever have to feign attraction to him. He turned slightly and caught sight of her by the door instantly ceasing in his playing.

“You play beautifully,” she spoke softly.

“Thank you.”

“Is all of this your work?” she asked, gesturing to the room.

“Yes. I would apologize for the mess but as it is my study, I see no reason to please anyone else in how I keep it. As my wife, you will be given freedom to do whatever you like with the house, but this room is strictly off limits.”

“Oh, no, that wasn’t...I mean...I don’t mind. I find this all fascinating, but Mother says such studies are not proper for young women.”

He watched her face as she surveyed the equipment and even dared to pick up an article close to her and began reading. Yes, there was a burning desire to know and understand in her wide brown eyes. Perhaps their union would not be so horrible after all. It was even possible he could mold her into the ideal assistant. He needed an assistant. It did not matter to him if that assistant was male or female as long as they did the work properly. Sherlock stepped forward and for the first time, Margaret looked straight into his eyes. Their gaze held for just a moment but it was long enough. Both of them recognized that this was to be a wonderful partnership, regardless of the situation.

Suddenly, Mrs. Hooper arrived at the door to collect her wayward daughter. It was improper of her to be alone with him, even though they would be married tomorrow evening. He had no opportunity to ask about her specific scientific interests but did slip her a book. It was a favorite of his documenting the progression of tuberculosis and included some illustrations of lung tissue, both healthy and at various stages of the disease. If it did not put her off from his work, he knew she would be able to join in his research. All thoughts of Margaret and their wedding left Sherlock Holmes’ mind only an hour later however, when the constable came knocking at his door requesting his assistance. The body of a woman had been found at the outskirts of town and looked to be related to an unsolved murder Sherlock had consulted on a year ago. 

-x-x-x-

Sherlock walked away from the scene but in the opposite direction of his home. The body he had just observed had nothing to do with the unsolved murder, it was merely a case of exposure. It was disappointing but the incident had highlighted his inability to close the case a year ago. He travelled further into the woods to revisit the original scene. Although he knew it would have lost any evidence by this time, he wanted to reacquaint himself with everything associated with the initial case. Being in the same location would help him visualize everything. He was walking briskly, paying no heed to his steps while lost in thought and his boot caught on a tree root sticking up above ground. Sherlock fell hard and landed face first in the lap of a beautiful woman.

He scrambled back, the temporary shock of finding himself in such a situation was enough to lose his typically composed attitude. It did not take long to recover however. He sat back and watched as the woman smiled a wicked smile at him. Her complexion was pale, too pale. Deathly even. And her eyes were darker than any he had ever seen. Her dark hair was pinned up to her head but not neatly. Although her clothes were of the finest material, they were several seasons out of fashion and were torn in some places. Sherlock stood and surveyed the woman in her entirety. She must have been sitting here for some time.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

Her voice was silken and he was mesmerized. This woman obviously had dark secrets and Sherlock would stop at nothing to know what they were.

“How could you have known I would be here? I only decided to come to these woods this afternoon.”

“Because you are a clever man and I knew it would be you who would finally come to my aid.”

“If you are looking for assistance, I am afraid I am the last person you would want. I have little time for the niceties of society. So I will bid you farewell.”

“Not so fast. I believe you will find it in your interests to assist me. You will continue to investigate the murder that occurred in this place a year ago,” her voice took on a sharp edge. This was a command, not a request.

“What do you know of the murder?”

“I know that I am the Woman.”

“The Woman?”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes, the woman whose murder you are going to solve or I will take my revenge on you instead. I will do anything to be released from this curse, even if that means tearing you apart.”

With that she stood and Sherlock recognized her for what she was. If he had not seen it with his own eyes he would not have believed it. Of course he had read about corpses reanimating, but had scoffed at the backward superstition regarding death that passed for scientific reasoning in some circles.

“Is there anything you might be able to tell me that will hasten us along. I’m afraid I have an engagement to attend to tomorrow.”

The woman laughed at this. “Oh, Mr. Holmes, that little bride of yours will have to wait. You’re going to spend some time with me in a wholly different place. The information I have for you cannot be expressed in mere words. It must be seen in order for you to believe it.”

She stepped forward and as soon as she touched his arm they were both swept down into a spiraling darkness. There were some friends she wanted him to meet.


	2. Chapter 2

Margaret Hooper sat staring out into the evening with the book on tuberculosis in her lap. She had read through parts of it and studied the images with interest but little of it made sense. It was encouraging to her that he had given it to her. Unless he had been trying to scare her away. She didn’t think he was though, not if the soul searching stare they had shared had meant as much to him as it had to her. Sadly she had been pulled away and he had been called away before she could ask any questions. Even now she wondered what he was doing out in the gathering night looking at dead bodies in the woods. Curiosity got the better of her and she threw a heavy cloak over her shoulders. Margaret headed out into the dark for the Holmes manor. She wanted a closer look at what her future husband worked on in his study.

There was only one servant still on staff at the manor and he did not seem bothered by the fact that Miss Hooper was visiting alone. Perhaps he reasoned she was just checking on the preparations for the wedding. She slipped inside and walked silently down to the study. Once there she went immediately to his desk. It was the only spot in the room that showed any sign of organization. Sitting gently in his chair she opened one of his notebooks and read over his bold script handwriting. It was messy but still legible. Little of it made any sense to her out of context however. Opening the top right hand drawer she found a file full of papers. Obviously an old case. This would shed some light on what he did while investigating with the constable.

Inside were pages of notes and sketches of a woman’s body lying on the ground in the woods. The sketch was more technical than artistic, noting everything that could be considered pertinent to the investigation. Margaret marvelled at the detail of it. The woman in the illustrations might be said to be beautiful, but it was hard to tell. Mr. Holmes had seemed much more interested in the positioning of the body in relation to the landscape and there were various scrawled notions on the edges indicating other pieces of evidence from the scene. She sat aside the sketches and began to read over the pages of notes.

The twilight turned to night outside as Margaret read and pondered the information in the case file. Something was missing from his notes. There was no indication that he had solved this one. Maybe that’s why it was here at his desk. He was still trying to fit all the pieces together. Margaret felt her pulse quicken. There was a thrill of the unknown about her husband-to-be and she wanted to be a part of it. Starting again at the beginning, she laid all of the information out in front of her and began to work through everything in her own mind, using his notations as a guide to possible solutions and avenues he had already eliminated. There was a vague familiarity about this case to something she had once read, against her mother’s permission of course. What was it?

-x-x-x-

Blinking his eyes open, Sherlock emerged in  the most garish sitting room imaginable with the Woman staring at him. She smiled at him again, it was still an obvious threat. Sherlock took in the decor of this place. The predominant color was red. Thick plush carpet the color of blood. Above dark wood panelling was wallpaper featuring black scroll designs on a cherry background. They sat in front of a fireplace on black velvet sitting chairs facing one another. The whole situation was dark and decadent. This woman was dangerous even after death.

“Where are we exactly?”

“You are my guest, for the moment. I want to tell you a little story, Mr. Holmes. There was once a woman, Irene, who was clever enough to see that women do not account for much in our world today. If she wanted something out of life, she was going to have to find a man to get it for her. She did not like the sound of that and so, as many women before her have done, she used the weakness of men to her advantage. She took what she wanted from this world by seducing men into giving her everything without her ever having to belong to any of them.”

“So she was a prostitute," Sherlock interrupted bluntly.

“Such language. Irene preferred to think of herself as a business woman in the world’s oldest profession. And in time, she branched out, as all wise business-minded individuals do. She hired a group of like minded women who worked towards a common goal. Together they became a force to be reckoned with, powerful enough to gain whatever they desired using the currency of secrets garnered from the men desperate for their affections.”

“Are we going to continue this story in third person for much longer, because it is becoming a bit tedious, Miss Adler,” he gave her a pointed look. He was not in the mood to play games. They both knew he was already familiar with who she really was from the investigation.

“Fine. The point of my story, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, was that I happened to have a very successful business exploiting men in positions of power by taking secrets from them while they were most exposed.” She grinned wickedly at her blatant double entendre. “Unfortunately, one of the men who came to play was more than we could handle. He spread some kind of disease among my girls and as a result I banned him from returning and informed him that he would be barred from similar establishments. I have to protect those who are in my care.”

“So the manipulating madame has a heart, how charming. Again, what does this have to do with your death and my abduction to this place?”

“This individual did not appreciate the rejection and sought revenge. I clearly would not be taken seriously by the authorities. At the time, there was no proof that he was the source of the wasting disease affecting the girls and, upon further questioning, I learned that his real name was unknown to us as well. Before I could use other means to eliminate him as a threat, I found myself here. My suspicions are that he had me killed and my body disposed of in those woods. That is fine, we all meet our end eventually, but I will not rest until I know this villain is no longer preying on women who I swore to protect.”

“And you mean to keep me here until I solve the case. I think that would be rather difficult don’t you?” Sherlock sneered at her. This was all utterly ridiculous. There were no leads in the case before and what she had provided was little more to go on.

“No. I only brought you here to meet some of the girls. The ones who died before me and those that have since joined us. Examining them should give you enough to go on. Then I will return you to the living to solve this little puzzle.”

At this a parade of emaciated women joined them in the sitting room. They all had sunken eyes, straggly hair plastered to the side of pale faces. A couple were wheezing. Sherlock stood to examine them more closely but refrained from touching any of them. The last corpse he had touched had dragged him into the underworld. He wouldn’t be making that mistake again. Finished with his inspection, he turned back to Irene.

“Alright, take me back. I need to go to my study. My notes are there and I need to compare what I have learned here with the information I had before.”

She nodded and joined him, again taking his arm and dragging him through swirling blackness. Sherlock was back in the woods, just on the outskirts of town. Irene still stood beside him.

“I will give you a few hours and then come check on your progress. I hope for your sake that you work quickly.” And with that she vanished into the fog.

-x-x-x-

Upon entering his study, Sherlock was very surprised to find Miss Hooper sitting at his desk. She seemed to have fallen asleep and the lamp at her elbow had extinguished itself. He walked over to stand beside her and watched her sleep for a few moments. In the moonlight coming through the window, she really was lovely. The silver light highlighted her delicate features and there was a warm glow around her auburn hair. It had been tied in a bun on the back of her head but strands had started to come loose in her slumber. He then noticed that she was asleep on top of all the notes from the Adler case. She had them spread out under her but in a logical fashion. She must have discovered them and begun reading them herself, trying to work out what had happened. Sherlock was impressed, and he was not a man to impress easily. Still, he needed his documents and it was most inconvenient that she was currently sleeping on top of them. Gently, he brushed his fingers across her brow, moving a piece of hair that had been swaying in her soft exhales.

“Miss Hooper.”

“Hhmm…” she stirred, fluttering her eyes open. Her vision was filled with his shocking blue-green eyes. “Oh! Oh, my goodness…” she exclaimed jolting upright. She tried to stand quickly and succeeded in knocking his chair back and upsetting the lamp. Sherlock reached out and caught the glass globe before it could hit the ground. “My apologies, Mr. Holmes. I shouldn’t have come, I just...well, I was curious...and I’ll just leave.”

“No. Please stay. It seems like you could be very helpful. Also, considering the circumstances, and we are to be man and wife soon, perhaps you should call me Sherlock.”

“Oh. Yes, yes of course.” She smiled softly at him, “And I suppose you should call me Margaret.”

“That is too much of a mouthful, and I don’t think it suits you.”

"Oh, well, my father sometimes calls me Maggie or Meg. He has since I was a child."

"Too childish. What else?"

"Marge?"

"That’s dreadful. Hmmm,” Sherlock mused. “How about Molly? I think it suits you."

"Molly," she tried it out. "Molly Hooper, to become Molly Holmes. I like that."

"Alright, Molly, shall we begin?” He smirked at her.

“Begin?” She regarded him with confusion but her heart beat faster.  He wanted, needed, her help. She was thrilled to give it. “What do you need?”

“It appears you got caught up in my absence. I will fill you in with the new information and we can go from there.”

Sherlock relit the lamp and Molly started a fire in the fireplace. She perched on a stool beside an experiment laden table and listened to Sherlock explain in detail his adventures to the underworld and what he had learned first hand from a dead woman. It was all so remarkable but never once did she doubt his story. They then sat in silence, trying to fit the new pieces into the puzzle before them.

“In the book you gave me,” Molly broke the silence. “It sounds like that might fit a lot of the symptoms presented by the women.”

“Tuberculosis would be a good candidate, but it’s more complex than that. I feel like there was something more. Irene would not have let a man with a clear presentation of consumption enter her brothel.”

“Maybe he was asymptomatic. Look here.” Molly took the book over to Sherlock, opening it to a page near the end and indicating a footnote. “This says that it is possible to have a patient infected but presenting no obvious symptoms yet.”

“You may make a scholar yet, Molly, reading footnotes even when a majority of the information is beyond you. And if I recall there was, last year, a presentation by a frenchman, Landouzy, titled _Morbid Associations: Syphilis and Tuberculosis_ , I have the paper here somewhere. He indicated a predisposing link between the two diseases. Syphilis is very common among prostitutes. An asymptomatic carrier could possibly infect them and in their already compromised state, it progresses rapidly.”

“That still does not solve who killed Miss Adler, however.” Molly sighed.

“Indeed it does not,” a velvet voice answered from the doorway. There stood Irene, her eyes flashing. It seemed his time was up and she was here for some answers. Sherlock knew he had to stall for more time, but how?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Speaking of footnotes: The presentation referenced above by Landouzy did happen. I was given at a conference in Paris in 1891. You can read all about it, and the supposed correlation between syphilis and tuberculosis (later found to be false) by doing an internet search for "Syphilis and Tuberculosis: Targeting the Prostitute - UC Press." My own career path sometimes brings interesting things like this to my attention, and they find their way into my fiction writing. I hope you enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

“Isn’t this a cozy little scene. The scientist and his assistant. How rebellious of you Miss Hooper, I’m impressed.”

“May I introduce, Miss Irene Adler.” Sherlock’s voice was cold and he moved to stand between Irene and Molly. He was unsure how either woman would react to the other’s presence but he sincerely doubted it would be pleasant.

“Come now, I don’t bite. Well, I might if the price were right,” Irene chuckled and smiled broadly enough to show her teeth to Molly. “I just came to see what progress you have made. It sounds as if you know what caused the deaths of my girls.”

“Yes. It seems that their demise was most likely caused by an unfortunate combination of syphilis and tuberculosis. I am beginning to suspect that your death had quite a different cause. You know more than you are telling, Miss Adler.”

“Awww, I’m not the favorite anymore,” she pouted. “Seems little Miss Hooper here has replaced me in your affections. But you are correct. There was more to my death, but that does not mean I know more about my killer. That is still for you to uncover. I need a name, Sherlock.” Her teasing tone was gone, she was all business again. Molly shivered looking into the woman’s cold stare. There was something else unsettling about Irene Adler. Then it dawned on Molly, the woman wasn’t breathing, how odd. If it weren’t for that detail, she might never have believed the woman was dead.

“Enough. There is little more I can do for you without more information.”

“You have everything you need. Perhaps what you are lacking is the proper motivation.”

Moving quicker than was humanly possible --of course, this woman was not human-- Irene was past Sherlock and quite close to Molly’s shivering frame. She was cold despite the fire still blazing in the grate behind her.

“Do not fear, my pet. You are simply going to come for a little visit while our Sherlock puts all the pieces together for me.”

Molly glanced wide-eyed at Sherlock. His face was the same unreadable mask it was when she first saw him in the library with her parents. It was his default, but the rage and horror in his eyes was clear for her to see. She understood, Irene was going to take her to the underworld and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. Right before Irene wrapped her ice cold fingers around Molly’s wrist she shouted to him.

“Whitechapel, ‘89. Sir Arthur Donaldson.”

And with that she was gone, falling into darkness. That was the piece she had remembered from her earlier reading of his case file. He had to figure it out, he had to save her.

-x-x-x-

In the blink of an eye, his bride was gone, spirited away by a corpse into a place he would have vehemently argued did not exist until only hours ago. Sherlock wanted to scream and overturn his tables. He had never had any intentions of actually developing feelings for Molly Hooper, and now it felt as if his chest was on fire. He was consumed with anger and desperation. He paced back and forth to quiet his nervous agitation at the thought of losing Molly. Emotions would be no help to either of them right now. He needed to focus, he needed to think. He flung himself into his chair and steepled his fingers. How could he possibly solve this case in the few hours until day broke and Molly’s parents realized she was gone? There wasn’t enough information. Miss Adler was purposefully hiding secrets of her own. Maybe she thought they weren’t important, more likely she knew they were important but even in death she was loathe to reveal them. And what had Molly shouted? _Whitechapel, ‘89. Sir Arthur Donaldson_. Were those from his notes? Perhaps something she had seen while reading over everything.

Reviewing everything he knew about the Adler case revealed no mention by him or any of the other reports of Whitechapel, an area of east London. Molly had never been to London that he was aware of, and if she had, would not have visited that area to be sure. So why would she draw his attention to it? Of course, she was an avid and rebellious scholar. She must have read the papers. Whitechapel was the epicenter of several notorious murders a few years back - ‘Jack the Ripper’ the murderer had been called. Sherlock had followed the case with interest but it appeared that the trail had gone cold after the last victim in ‘88. Irene’s death did not resemble the Ripper case at all. No, Molly had mentioned the next year, 1889. What occurred in ‘89 then? Another murder, similar in some respects as it had been a young woman and was unsolved, but there were distinct differences as well. A torso had been found under a railway arch in Pinchin Street. What had Molly seen in the Adler case that brought to mind the torso of a woman in Whitechapel two years ago?

Not just the case, Molly had also mentioned a name. Sir Arthur Donaldson. Had his name also been in the papers? Yes, in connection with the deaths of several women. All of them prostitutes. He had been using them in some sort of explicit photography scheme. Killing them at the height of his own pleasure. My what sordid things Miss Hooper read when her mother wasn’t supervising her. His estimation of her went higher and he instantly regretted allowing his mind to detour to thinking about Molly again. If he lost this game tonight, he lost Molly as well. Although he only knew her for a very short while, he had instantly come to rely upon her. There were ways she could see the world that complimented his own powers of logic and deduction. Yes, he needed her. But for now, the case - Sir Arthur Donaldson. It was possible that there were photos of Irene, or some other information about her that someone was using to blackmail her. For a woman who built her life around stealing and exploiting the secrets of others she would be enraged that someone could be exploiting her. But what did that have to do with the torso on Pinchin street?

Sherlock drew a collection of reports from the shelf in his office. He quickly skimmed through looking for the Donaldson information. He had been convicted of taking prostitutes and drugging them for use in his depraved activities. Oh! The drugs. He made them compliant with laudanum, killed them and then disposed of the bodies by dismembering them and scattering the body parts. Irene must have been drugged as well. Most likely by her blackmailer, before she was killed and her body dumped. It would have left little visible trace for Sherlock in his investigations, being unequipped to look for such a substance in her body. Who would be the blackmailer though? Who could wield that kind of power over Irene Adler? Not a rival, no. Only someone close to her would have been able to acquire photographs capable of destroying her. A partner. That was the solution. Time to find Miss Adler and retrieve his clever bride.

-x-x-x-

Fog curled and churned behind his cloak as Sherlock strode confidently into the woods once more. He had a  suspicion that visiting the location where they had first ‘met’ would be the quickest way to contact The Woman. She would want to have the advantage. He had reasoned correctly, finding  Irene standing in the pale light, her dangerous smile once again on her lips. Beside her stood Molly, obviously frightened but not in any danger of fainting like some weak-minded wisp. Sherlock’s eyes flitted over her checking for injury. There was nothing other than the shivering from lack of a cloak. This would all be finished soon. He relaxed slightly and turned his attention to Irene.

“Finally cracked the case have we?” Irene purred.

“You were being blackmailed.”

“Very good. I knew you would get there eventually.”

“It would have saved a great deal of time if you had started with that bit of information,” he replied cooly.

“I wanted to watch you work.The illness among my girls was just a ruse of course, although I was curious how they had gotten so ill so very quickly. You are starting to get a reputation, Mr. Holmes. I wanted to see if you were as good as rumored. I would watch my back in London if I were you.”

“I will take that under advisement. In the meantime, your were killed by your blackmailer. Apparently she was tired of waiting for you to crumble under the pressure.”

“She?”

“Yes, only someone very close to you would have been able to access information necessary to bend you to her will. I’m sure with that you will be able to come up with the name on your own.”

“Kate,” she spat. “Katherine O’Sullivan. She was my partner, my closest confidant. But I never would have suspected her of betraying me. Are you positive?”

“If the business was as vicious as you claim, I have no doubt she would try to advance her position by stepping on or over your dead body, Miss Adler. She had the means and motivation. Drugged you with laudanum and paid for your ultimate disposal. She might have succeeded had she been more precise in her attempt to copy the murders she read about in the papers. I imagine she paid her accomplice to dismember your body, like the Pinchin Street murders, in order to allay suspicion. But even rowdies will hesitate to cut up a corpse just for money. It may have been their idea to bring you here instead of leaving your cadaver in the city.”

“But I loved her!” Irene all but screamed. “She was the only person in the world who truly saw who I was. She was going to stay with me forever.”

“‘Til death do you part,” Molly murmured. She looked at Irene with sadness. It was clear that the beautiful woman was inconsolable with her grief and betrayal. Only a love lost could cause that kind of pain. Kate was more than a business partner to Irene.

“Would you like for me to take this case to the police. I am doubtful they would pass up the opportunity to ruin her business by arresting her for murder.”

“No. I have other plans for the traitorous harlot,” Irene snapped. Her eyes burned. “It is a wonder the abilities I have in my current state. Thank you, Sherlock Holmes. I will haunt you and Miss Hooper no longer.”

With the slightest nod  in his direction, Irene walked further into the woods, quickly disappearing from sight. But Molly did not turn to watch her go. Her knees were going weak beneath her as the tension of the situation dissipated into the foggy night. She was both surprised and relieved when she felt Sherlock’s warm arms catch her before she fell. He steadied her without a word and then wrapped his own cloak around her frame. Molly smiled up at him. He took her arm in his and guided her back toward the town.

They walked back in silence, both lost in their own thoughts regarding the bizarre night they had just shared with The Woman in the woods. He led Molly to the darkened exterior of her own home. She hoped her parents were still asleep and no one would know of her rather improper evening. If they knew, they would surely call off the wedding. Even if this was the only taste she got of life with Sherlock Holmes, she would be content for the rest of her days. But secretly she hoped that this was only the beginning, that there were many more adventures in her future as Mrs. Holmes. Sherlock was reflecting on how insightful Molly had been and how she had not flinched from his work. Her composure under such grave circumstances made her look impossibly beautiful in his eyes. She nearly glowed with the suppressed excitement. A gentle smile crept across his face.

“Your help was invaluable, Molly,” he said, taking her hand, “Thank you.” Sherlock bowed and placed a soft kiss on the back of her hand. He turned without another word or glance at her, returning to his own home as the early morning sun spread cold and clear across the sky.  Sherlock thought the wisest decision he had ever made had been agreeing to wed Molly Hooper.

-x-x-x-

At half six that evening, Miss Margaret  Hooper was wed to Mr. Sherlock Holmes in a small ceremony in the large drawing room of the Holmes manor. After the reception, Molly retired to the master bedroom to unpack her belongings having had them delivered by her parent’s staff earlier in the day. She would wait a few days before deciding if she would hire a small staff to help keep things presentable. Sherlock stepped into the room and eyed her critically.

“What are you doing, Mrs. Holmes?”

Molly squeaked in alarm, “Oh! I was just unpacking my things. Since you will still be leaving for London in a few days, I thought it would be alright for me to proceed with putting my things in here. Would you prefer I helped you pack first?”

“No. I would prefer you not unpack your things at all.”

“Of course. It was rude of me to presume to take the master bedroom, I know this marriage was merely one of convenience for you Mr. Holmes.” She ducked her head. There was a feeling of deep loss settling into the pit of her stomach. The events of the previous night were obviously an aberration. Sherlock was focused on his studies and experiments. At least when he left she would still have the library to lose herself in.

Sherlock stepped further into the room and tilted her chin up with one crooked finger. She gasped a bit at the smirk on his lips and the merriment in his eyes.

“You will do no such thing. You will remain packed and join me in London.” Molly could not contain the joy his words stirred in her heart. Light danced behind her eyes and her smile filled her whole face. Sherlock continued, “I will be in need of my assistant constantly. I would be lost without my Molly.”


End file.
